


Into the Free

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Jon Snow Doesn't Join the Night's Watch, Jon Snow Joins the Wildings, Jon Snow Leaves the Night's Watch, M/M, Omega Jon Snow, Robb Stark Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:08:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23268982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Omega Jon Snow wanted to join the Night's Watch to find a place he could belong, but when something happens that makes him unable to stomach taking his vows, he ends up as the captive of the King-Beyond-the-Wall and learns that most of his preconceived notions of the wildings have been wrong.Meanwhile, the news of his missing brother causes Robb Stark to make much different choices in the War of Five Kings.
Relationships: Jon Snow & Robb Stark, Jon Snow & Ygritte, Jon Snow/Other(s), Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow
Comments: 58
Kudos: 486





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, definitely read the warnings for the first chapter.

Jon shivered as he huddled closer to the fire. The wind on top of the Wall was biting, making his watch cold and miserable. Still, he was grateful for the solitude. With his uncle gone, he felt as if he had no allies at Castle Black.

Alliser Thorne, who was in charge of training the new recruits, treated him with nothing but scorn. Before Benjen had left, he had told Jon not to take it personally. The Master-at-Arms was a Targaryen loyalist sent to the Wall after the Rebellion. His dislike of Jon stemmed from his dislike of Jon’s father.

Jon wasn’t sure how that was supposed to make him feel better, but he was used to being unfairly treated for who his father was.

His fellow recruits weren’t much better. Some were criminals fleeing to the Wall to escape punishment. Jon hadn’t expected to make friends with any of that lot. If anything, he tried to avoid them as much as possible. Honestly, if Thorne hadn’t forbidden the recruits from carrying weapons until they took their vows, Jon would carry a dirk on him anytime he had to be around them, just in case.

His lack of a weapon made him ache for the reassuring presence of Ghost at his side, but Thorne had taken that from him as well. Reasoning that the direwolf was as much of a weapon as any sword, he had Ghost locked up in the stables until Jon took his vows.

As for the other recruits, what few there were, they hated Jon for growing up in a castle, believing him to be a pampered and conceited lordling. Since nothing he said could make them resent him any less, Jon had taken to knocking them down as quickly as possible to just get things over with.

Tyrion Lannister had taken him to task for his treatment of the other recruits, attempting to shame Jon into feeling sorry for them. After all, Tyrion had reasoned, they hadn’t grown up with a master-at-arms to train them, and most had come to the Wall in search of a place where they could at least be guaranteed a place in the barracks and regular meals.

Jon had thought Tyrion’s admonishments were big words for a man who resented anyone who dared treat him as anything but the little Lannister lord that he was. For all his talk that all dwarves were bastards in their fathers’ eyes, he certainly refused to be treated as one.

Jon knew there were things about his life growing up at Winterfell that were better than most. He had been fed and clothed just the same as his trueborn brothers and sisters, though Lady Stark had always made sure that his clothing was of lesser quality. And yes, his father had allowed him to train with Robb and Theon and had ensured he had the skills to protect himself. In those aspects, maybe his life was something to be envied by his fellow recruits.

But how could any of them truly grasp how unenviable his life really was? For one, they were alphas and betas, all of them. Omegas were called lustful and leered at as a general rule throughout Westeros, but a _bastard_ omega? He saw the way his father’s men looked at him when their captains weren’t looking, and he wasn’t foolish enough to believe that any of them had any marital intentions in mind when they did.

If anything, Jon envied those recruits who had chosen the relative security of the Wall in exchange for giving up any chance of a family of their own. That’s what Jon wanted the most. Not so much children of his own. That particular concept was tinged with the fear that those children would be bastards that would be scorned as he was. But people who would accept him and love him unconditionally for all to see. Someone who could show him favor without it being seen as an insult to others.

While Jon knew his father loved him, Ned Stark could never show him much regard. It would be unseemly for the Lord of Winterfell to be openly affectionate towards his bastard.

And though the other recruits might not have particularly wanted to join the Night’s Watch, but they likely had more choice in the decision than Jon had.

_His door burst open as Robb stormed in without knocking, shutting it harshly behind him as he glared at Jon, who had frozen for only a moment in packing up his meager belongings. Jon sighed as he continued stuffing his pack with his spare trousers._

_“You can stop packing right now,” Robb ordered sternly, putting on what Bran called his “Lord Voice,” that he adopted whenever he had to speak in any official capacity._

_If the Heir of Winterfell had used that voice on any other person in the castle, save his lord father and lady mother, Jon was sure that they would have been hard pressed to ignore it. Even Arya would have paid attention. Jon, however, just rolled his eyes and continued packing. He knew Robb too well to be intimidated by his bluster._

_“I mean it,” Robb snapped, moving forward and snatching a shirt out of Jon’s hands. “You’re not going.”_

_Jon gave him a flat stare. “Father’s already given me permission to go, and your Lady Mother has made it quite clear that I have no place here.”_

_Didn’t Robb know how much it killed him to have to leave? To leave Robb, the older brother who protected him and was got angry with Jon for daring to be better than him at swordplay, even if he were an_ omega _? To leave Arya, the little sister who understood him better than anyone and who loved him freely and unconditionally? To leave Bran and Rickon, the sweet little brothers he adored? Even Sansa, who ignored him as much as possible in an attempt to not irritate either her mother or Arya, would be difficult to leave._

_“I am acting Lord of Winterfell in Father’s stead once he goes south with the king,” Robb gritted out. “I say if you have a place here, not Mother. And you will_ always _have a place at Winterfell as long as I live.”_

_“And what sort of place would I have here, Robb?” Jon asked, matching his glare with one of his own. “None of the guards would respect an omega enough for me to have a place among them. I wouldn’t be able to help you run the castle or serve as your advisor. No one would respect me, and worse, it would reflect badly on you to be seen favoring your bastard omega brother.”_

_“To hell with what people think!” Robb yelled. “You are my brother! I’m allowed to favor you.”_

_Jon gave him a sad smile. “And when you are married and there are rumors that you are taking your omega bastard brother to bed? What are you to then?” Jon knew he was being cruel by spinning worst case scenarios for Robb, but they constantly haunted his nightmares. “When they whisper that my bastard children are yours? Because I will have them. I’m not foolish enough to believe that I will be able to go my entire life without some alpha taking advantage of me during my heat, raping me when I can’t say no—”_

_“Enough!” Robb roared, grabbing him roughly by the shoulders. Tears were streaming down Jon’s face at this point. He was helpless to stop them as he neared his worst fears to his brother. “I_ will not _let that happen!”_

_“Robb, you will have the entire North to worry about,” Jon replied ruefully. “You cannot devote so much attention to me, and I wouldn’t want anyone to say that you were neglecting any of your duties for me.”_

_His brother shook his head. “The Wall cannot be the answer,” he said in defeat. Jon was surprised and a little disheartened to see Robb accept that he had no place at Winterfell so easily. Was he not worth fighting for? Though Jon had already accepted it as the truth, it hurt to see Robb give in so easily. “How could you possibility be safer among rapers and murderers?”_

_“There are honorable men there, too,” he reminded him. “Uncle Benjen is a brother of the Night’s Watch, and Jeor Mormont is the Lord Commander. Besides, omegas have always served on the Wall. They are given some sort of potion to stop their heats from ever happening.”_

_Jon said the last part as neutrally as possible. The truth was, he was frightened at what sort of concoction would damage his internal parts so much that he would never go into heat again. Surely it must be quite painful if omegas everywhere did not seek it out. He didn’t let his fear show to his brother, though. As a beta, Robb only had a rudimentary understanding of what it meant to be an omega and would have no desire to learn more about them like an alpha would._

_Despite his fear, though, Jon was determined to go to the Wall. As a highborn bastard, he might have had more options, but as a highborn_ omega _bastard, he had precious few. No one would respect him in any position typically given a man, and he was not as useful as he would have been had he been born a woman. The Night’s Watch was the only place that would take him as he was._

_“I will miss you, brother, but I must go where I can belong,” Jon told him._

_Robb gave him a watery smile and pulled him into a tight embrace. “I will miss you, too, brother.”_

Jon had, of course, been wrong. He no more belonged at the Wall than he had at Winterfell. Maybe he didn’t belong anywhere. Perhaps he was just _wrong_. Lady Stark’s gods sure seemed to think so. A man able to bear children? What could be more _wrong_ than that? And a bastard to boot? 

He mulled miserably over his lot in life until his replacement came. He walked towards the iron cage that would bring him down, his limbs stiff with cold. The air became slightly warmer as the cage crawled to the ground, the wind less biting. It was a relief when he was able to be back on solid ground.

He nodded towards the man operating the winch before making his way towards the barracks. He felt slightly uneasy as he walked through the shadows, darker than usual because a few of the torches had burned out. He ached for the presence of Ghost at his side. He told himself that is where the sudden anxious feeling came from. Ghost was a part of him, and being separated from him felt as if he were missing a limb.

Unfortunately, he was proven wrong not a minute later.

Jon gave a sharp cry as a weight crashed into him from behind. The cry was muffled, though, by a hand that wrapped tightly around the bottom half of his face. Jon attempted to turn to face his attacker, but was suddenly grabbed on both sides. His legs kicked out uselessly as was dragged towards the stables and into an empty stall.

The hand left his mouth for just a moment, but a gag was stuffed into it before Jon had a chance to call out, and was tied harshly around his head. A blindfold was quickly tied around his eyes, causing Jon’s panic to go through the roof.

His attackers’ silence was unnerved as he was shoved face-first onto the ground, bashing his temple as he tried to thrash his way away from them.

He could hear Ghost a few stalls over, attacking the door of his own stall in an attempt to reach Jon. Though he prayed the wolf managed it, he knew that the door was too tall, too sturdy, for the not-yet fully grown direwolf to escape.

All hope fled him as his arms and shoulders were harshly pinned down by the two men on either side of him while another pair of hands ripped away his cloak and pulled down his trousers and small clothes. With his bottom exposed to the frigid night air, he could no longer delude himself as to the aim of his attackers.

Terror and horror welled inside him as he increased his useless efforts.

Jon wanted to beg and plead with them not to do this. Wanted to scream for help that he knew would not come. Though he continued fighting them, the men pinning him down were too strong and his squirming just caused the man behind him to chuckle menacingly.

He was not prepared when the first breach came and pain like no other filled him. While he had always known that the danger of rape dogged his steps as an omega, no amount of pragmatic understanding of that this could have had prepared him for the tearing pain that consumed him now.

He felt as if his insides were being pulverized with each thrust. He couldn’t move for the pain. All fight had fled him, and he sagged onto the ground, unable to do anything but wail pitifully into his gag, tears soaking through his blindfold.

He barely noticed when the men switched places, with each of them taking turns using his abused body.

All he knew was the pain that wracked his body, the deep throbbing that spread from somewhere deep inside him to the very tips of his fingers. Later, he might dwell on the humiliation of his attack and shame might well up inside him, but the pain was too consuming for such thoughts to enter his mind at that moment.

If the gods were good, they would let him die, he thought as the pain became too much and darkness took him.

#

“—did they expect would happen, sending an _omega_ here?” a voice dripping with disdain asked. Jon didn’t know why, but he felt a vague stab of shame at the question, though he wasn’t aware enough to understand what the voice was talking about.

“Need I remind you, Ser Alliser, that I, too, am an omega, and I have served at the Wall for longer than you’ve been alive,” a thinner voice answered in reproach. “As have hundreds of omegas throughout the years.”

“It had to be some of the newer recruits,” a different voice stated. “No brother would have done this.”

“Perhaps,” the thinner voice replied mildly.

“And I suppose I am to blame for not keeping an eye on them? I’m meant to train them, not babysit them,” the first voice snapped.

“Perhaps if you had not been so obvious with your dislike of the boy, the other recruits would not have thought they could get away with this sort of behavior!” the other voice growled. “Like it or not, Thorne, this order depends on the support of Winterfell and the North. How much support do you think Ned Stark or his son is going to give the Night’s Watch knowing that they allowed his son to be so sorely treated! How long do you think the rest of the houses will continue their support once Winterfell cuts us off?”

“Benjen—”

“Benjen will likely go on a rampage and kill all the new recruits and you once he gets back and learns what happened!

“Enough of this, both of you,” the thinner voice of the self-proclaimed omega said, brushing the hair back from Jon’s face as he spoke. Jon scrunched his nose as the other omega’s scent reached him. He smelt _wrong_. “He’s waking up.”

No longer able to cling to the illusion of sleep, Jon blinked his eyes open and instantly wanted to shrink in on of himself as he was met with the Lord Commander, Maester Aemon, and Thorne staring down at him.

The Lord Commander gave him a sympathetic smile that Jon didn’t understand. “Jon,” he said, almost gently, unnerving him even more. “Do you remember what happened?”

What happened? Jon stared at him dumbly for a moment before he cast his gaze about the room. Where was he? It looked like it was one of the private rooms belonging to the officers of the Night’s Watch, like Uncle Benjen. But why was Jon in one?

He made to sit up, and a sharp pain lanced through him. He fell back onto the bed, gasping as the pain seemed to shoot up his spine and through his entire body.

The night before came rushing back to him with the pain. The terror, the men holding him down and…

To his shame, he wasn’t able to bite back the first strangle sob that ripped from his throat, but he squeezed his eyes and mouth shut to keep back any further. Gods, what these men must think of him? Stupid, pathetic omega.

“It’s alright, lad,” Mormont’s voice said soothingly. “Do you remember who did this to you?”

Jon shook his head, keeping his eyes closed so that he didn’t have to look at any of them. “I didn’t see them,” he mumbled, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice.

He heard Thorne’s scoff and tried not to flinch instinctively away from the man. Not only did he not want Thorne to know the effect he had on Jon, but he also was sure the movement would be painful.

“Lord Commander, I do not believe any further questioning would be helpful to Jon’s recovery at the moment,” Maester Aemon said with a slight censure in his voice. “If Jon does not know his attackers, then it would be best to let him rest.”

Jon was grateful for the older omega’s suggestion. He was dangerously close to losing the battle with his emotions, and he did not want to break down in front of them.

Thorne just grunted in acknowledgment. Lord Mormont must have signified his agreement non-verbally, though.

“Is there anything we can do for you while you rest, lad?” Mormont asked.

Jon thought it was an absurd question. What could possibly be done for him? His worst nightmare had become a reality and was left with the shame and humiliation of not having been able to fight back. Surely, he wouldn’t be able to become a brother of the Night’s Watch after being proven so weak? And did he even want to anymore? Could he really call his rapers brothers?

He opened his eyes and gave the Lord Commander. “Ghost,” he said desperately, longing for his wolf and the connection to his real brothers and sisters he represented.

Thorne made a displeased noise. “That wolf is a danger if let lose. It is like to kill any man who tries to bring it here.”

“Still, we will do our best to get him to you,” Mormont said firmly, giving Thorne a glare.

Once they had left, Jon was left alone with the maester, who gave him a kindly smile. “I am sorry this has happened to you, my boy,” he told him, unseeing eyes fixed uncannily on Jon’s face. “But you must not let this moment turn into a lifetime.”

Jon listened to the words without comprehension, unable to understand how he could possibly move past this moment to even consider the rest of his life. “Can I just be alone, maester?” he asked, not caring if he were being disrespectful.

The old maester just nodded. “Let me help you drink some milk of the poppy and I will leave you be.”

Jon dutifully drank, ignoring how raising his head just a bit caused the pain to flare up once more.

“There’s nothing to do but rest,” the maester told him as he took the cup from Jon’s lips. “The damage is mostly internal, and all we can do is not exacerbate it.”

Internal. Jon shuddered at the word, at the reminder that his attackers had been _inside him_. It made him feel dirty and tainted.

The maester left him as the milk of the poppy began taking hold and he drifted off once more into darkness.

tbc…


	2. Chapter Two

When Jon next woke, it was to find a wall of white fur to his left and Tyrion Lannister seated at his right. Something settled in Jon with Ghost at his side at last, but he could do without Tyrion. Given the last time the dwarf had spoken to him was to scold him for not going easy on the other recruits in training, he could only imagine what would be in store for him in this conversation.

He turned away from Tyrion and burrowed as close to Ghost as he could without actually moving too much. The milk of the poppy had worn off, and his entire body felt raw, with every tiny movement causing pain. Ghost wedged closer to him, as if feeling the same need to be close as Jon.

“I’m sorry,” Tyrion broke the silence as he became aware that Jon was in no mood to speak first.

“It is not your fault, my lord,” Jon said softly, forcing his voice to be as even as possible. He kept his eyes focused on Ghost’s white fur, not wanting to see the pity in Tyrion’s eyes.

“I am not referring to your attack,” Lannister replied. To his credit, Tyrion did not try to inject any forced sympathy in his voice. “Though I am sorry that this happened to you. I’m referring to the lecture I gave you the other day. I see now why it would have been dangerous for you to give your fellow recruits any quarter.”

Knowing that Tyrion Lannister took great pride in being intelligent, Jon knew how difficult it was to admit that he was wrong. At any other time, he might have been moved by Tyrion humbling himself enough to admit such a thing to him. Now, however, it seemed like a poor consolation. 

Not really knowing how to answer Tyrion’s worthless apology, Jon instead asked, “Has my uncle returned yet?”

He wasn’t how long he had been asleep, but knew that his uncle had already been late in returning from his ranging before his attack. Jon wasn’t sure why he hoped his uncle had returned. Upon reaching Castle Black, Benjen had become distant to him, reminding him that brothers of the Night’s Watch had no family bonds besides their fellow brothers in black.

Would his uncle even care of those brother had attacked Jon? The Uncle Benjen he had known at Winterfell would have cared, but the cold uncle that he had come to know at the Wall might believe that his bastard omega nephew was to blame for allowing himself to be taken off guard. Jon knew that was likely what Thorne believed.

Jon didn’t want to believe that his uncle would be so uncaring, but honestly, the only people who ever seemed to care whenever he was ill or injured at Winterfell were his siblings. Even Sansa, the sibling who loved him least, had visited him when he had broken his leg two years ago more than his father had.

“I’m afraid not,” Tyrion answered regretfully. “Mormont plans on sending search parties out for him.”

Jon’s heart sank at the news. While his uncle might not have cared, having a familial alpha presence near him would have made Jon feel safer. Jon knew his disappointment was selfish when Benjen could have been in real danger beyond the Wall, but he couldn’t find it in himself to feel guilty about that right now.

“I plan on leaving tomorrow,” Tyrion told him after a few moments of silence. “I’ll be stopping at Winterfell on the way. I would take you with me, but Maester Aemon tells me that you won’t be in a condition to travel by horseback for at least two moons, and I’m afraid I cannot wait that long to leave.”

Jon blinked at that. “Why would I travel to Winterfell with you?”

Tyrion gave him an astonished look. “Surely you can’t mean to stay here?” he asked in confusion. “After what they did to you?”

Jon wasn’t sure what he was going to do. Tyrion was right. The idea of staying with the Watch turned his stomach. He had no idea who his attackers were, and he could not be vigilant at every moment to fend off an attack. Even with Ghost at his side, it would be nearly impossible to be safe at all time. And the idea of a repeat of that night in the stables… 

Jon shuddered. He couldn’t endure that again. He would rather die.

But could he go back to Winterfell in disgrace? Lady Stark would treat him in contempt, but Robb would welcome him, though Jon wasn’t sure he could handle seeing pity in his eyes. And gods, Theon Greyjoy would be sure to make his life miserable. The kraken had always leered at him and made lewd jokes at his expense.

Jon longed for home, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to face his old life after being so destroyed by the Watch. How could he face Robb after being shamed? How could he face any of them? He had left in order to find his place in the world. How could he return after the world had broken him and shown him he had no place?

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted to Tyrion.

“I don’t know what’s best for you, Jon,” the dwarf told him. The use of his name irked him. It seemed that only now that he was so damaged, was everyone willing to look past the “Snow” to see him as a person. “But I hope you choose what is right for you in the end.”

If he were hoping the half-man had any answers for him, he was sorely disappointed. It was funny, everyone had been so quick to have an opinion about his life choices before. Now, when he felt like he was cast adrift and most needed someone to tell him what to do, Tyrion decided that now was the time to be concerned with what _Jon wanted_.

“I don’t mean to be rude, my lord, but I’d like to be alone,” Jon muttered, still refusing to look away from Ghost’s fur.

“Of course,” Tyrion murmured back. Jon heard him move towards the door before pausing. “Would you like me to deliver a message to your family? I would understand you not wanting to tell your younger brothers what happened, but what about your brother Robb?”

Panic seized him as he snapped his head to look at the other man. The movement caused pain to lance through him, and he gasped loudly, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to breathe through the pain.

“Someone get the maester!” he heard Tyrion shout.

“No,” he gritted out, despite knowing it was useless. He opened his eyes and caught Tyrion’s mismatched stare. “Don’t tell Robb. I can’t…” To his mortification, tears spilled from his eyes. “Robb can’t know.”

Tyrion gave him a pitying look. “Word will reach him long before I do. In fact, I am sure the Lord Commander has already sent word to at least your lord father.”

An awful half-sob, half-wail ripped from his throat before he could stop it. Regardless of the pain it caused, he turned back to bury his face in Ghost’s fur. His father would know what happened to him. Gods, if his injuries hadn’t killed him, surely his humiliation would?

“Lord Tyrion, if you would leave me alone with my charge,” Maester Aemon’s voice reached him.

“Of course, maester,” he replied before leaving in a hurry, probably more than ready to escape the overly emotional omega.

“You must give yourself time to heal, Jon,” the maester told him gently as he approached the bed and placed a hand on his forehead. “Both your body and your mind. With time, you will be hale and whole once more.”

Jon huffed a laugh through his tears. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be hale and whole, maester,” he said miserably.

“You will, my boy,” Aemon said as he lifted Jon’s head and placed a small cut of milk of the poppy at his lips. Jon drank gratefully, wanting nothing more than to sink back into the empty blackness of sleep.

#

Ned held the unopened scroll Grand Maester Pycelle had given him as he left the Small Council meeting loosely in his palm after briefly noting the plain black wax seal of the Night’s Watch. He made back towards the Tower of the Hand, but was intercepted by Baelish, who told him that he was going the wrong. Confused, he followed Baelish while absently wondered if the letter would be from his brother or his nephew.

With a pang in his heart, he knew it was more likely from Benjen. Ned had noticed that, as Jon grew older, he hesitated to reach out to him, as if he were uncertain of Ned’s love. If Lyanna was alive, she’d beat him black and blue for allowing Jon to go one second without knowing that he was fully and completely loved.

He was disrupted from his musing as he realized that Baelish wasn’t leading him towards the Tower of the Hand.

“I’m taking you to your wife,” came the mysterious answer.

Rage filled him as they reached a brothel. He grabbed Baelish and roughly shoved him against a wall, crushing the scroll in his hands without realizing it.

“Ned!” the voice of his wife startled him and saved Baelish from being strangled.

What followed was a strange and infuriating story from Cat about an assassin being sent to kill Bran and Baelish’s surprising revelation that the dagger the assassin tried to use belong to Tyrion Lannister. With a deadly mystery involving the queen’s family and Baelish’s ominous warnings of treason, Ned was already regretting taking the position of Hand.

“What’s that?” Cat asked, noticing the small, crushed scroll that he had forgotten was still in his hand.

He frowned down at it. “A raven from the Wall.”

“Open it!” his wife hissed urgently. “Tyrion Lannister went to the roll. It might contain some hint about him.”

Ned doubted that Benjen or Jon would waste ink writing to him about Tyrion Lannister unless he had done something truly egregious, but he acquiesced to Cat’s urging. Upon breaking the seal, he was surprised to find that the letter was not from either Benjen or Jon, but rather from Lord Commander Mormont. As he read on, though, his blood froze in his veins.

_Lord Stark-_

_It is with great regret that I write this letter. You recently entrusted your son, Jon Snow, to the Night’s Watch, and it is with a heavy heart that I inform you that we have abused this trust. Early this morning, a brother discovered Jon in an unused stable stall. There is no easy way to put it. He had been violently raped. While our maester believes he will make a full recovery with time, we felt it best to notify you of these developments. It is likely that the boy will want to return home and not take his vows after such an event, and I would not blame him for it._

_Your brother Benjen is currently on a ranging. I am sure once he returns, he will write to update you on Jon’s condition._

_-Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch._

“Ned!” Cat cried in alarm. Ned had no idea what his face was showing, but it was likely nowhere near adequate to convey his anger, fear, and _horror_. _Gods_ , Jon, his sister’s boy, _his son_ , had been…

Cat took the letter from his slack fingers before he could stop her. In that moment, he was unsure what his wife’s reaction would be, and it frankly worried him. If she brushed aside what happened to Jon as insignificant, he did not know if he could ever look at her again.

Her eyes scanned the letter and widened in horror as she took in their meaning. “Ned…” she whispered in a pained voice, her eyes filling with tears as she looked back up to him.

An uncharitable voice inside him wondered how much of the emotion she was showing was based in her own guilt. After all, if it had not been for her treatment of him, Jon might not have wished to go to the Wall.

That was unfair, he knew. There were many different factors that contributed to Jon’s decision to take the black, not the least of which was his status as an omega. Still, he would not let the world take Jon from him like it had his mother.

“I am sending word that Jon is to return to Winterfell as soon as he is healed,” Ned told her in a tone that brooked no argument.

Thankfully, she nodded in agreement. “Robb would march on Castle Black to retrieve him if you didn’t,” she sniffled. “I know I haven’t always treated the boy fairly, but I… Ned, I never wanted something like this to happen to him.”

Ned chose to believe her, if only so that he wouldn’t hate her. Perhaps it was best that she was returning North. He needed time to get over whatever unfair blame he lay at her feet for Jon’s attack.

“You will treat him well from now on,” he warned her, nearly shaking with his fury over his mental picture of Jon being found broken and used in a dirty stable. “You will ensure that he has every comfort possible at Winterfell and that he wants for nothing.”

She nodded hastily. “Of course, my lord.”

They parted a bit more coldly than they normally would have, which he knew was mostly his fault. For her part, Catelyn seemed chastised and regretful. Perhaps, once Jon was healed and back at Winterfell, he would be able to move past his sudden, undeserved resentment of his wife.

#

Despite his belief that his body was forever broken by his attack, the pain did lessen bit by bit as the days went by, though they were difficult to keep track of. After the first couple of days, it became easier to at least count the days, as Maester Aemon insisted on him taking steaming hot baths every day after that. He had asked what the point was and instantly regretted it as Aemon explained that he had been badly torn by his attack and was at a greater risk of infection as a result.

The reminder that his attackers had torn him _from the inside_ made him ill, and he decided to stop asking questions after that.

Besides the stewards commissioned to bring his meals to him and hot water to fill the tub in his room, his only visitor was Maester Aemon over the next two weeks, forcing him to drink horrible tasting concoctions twice a day to stave off infection. Not that Jon really expected anyone else. He had not made friends among his fellow recruits, and apparently his uncle had still not returned. Considering Jon still had no idea which men at the Wall had attacked him, he was glad he didn’t have to see anyone else. 

Still, after the amount of time that had passed, Jon had thought that he would have healed more than he had. His body was more sore now than in pain. His bowel movements were still agonizing, but at least there was no longer any blood.

“You’ll be able to get up and move about in another two weeks or so,” Maester Aemon told him one night after he had bathed, as he was dutifully eating the stew that the maester had had brought him to him before he would be forced to take his medicine. “Though I would advise against any vigorous movement. That means no training for another few weeks, and definitely no horseback riding for at least another moon.”

Jon sighed in resignation. So all he would really be able to do is walk about his bedchamber a bit more. He had no intention, after all, of walking about Castle Black when he wouldn’t be well enough to fight back. Though he had been able to fight bak before and still failed…

“Will I have to take my meals with the rest of the men?” he asked quietly.

The old maester hummed thoughtfully. “I believe we can ease you into that,” he said finally. “If you intend to stay.”

Jon wasn’t able to answer that. He didn’t want to stay, but he didn’t want to leave either. Honestly, anything beyond the four walls of his current chamber was beyond anything he could think of right now.

“The Lord Commander had a raven from Lord Stark today,” Aemon continued easily, as if his words did not shake Jon to the core. “There was a note for you as well.”

The maester withdrew a small scroll from his robes and held it out to Jon, who took it with shaking hands.

_Jon-_

_Come home. You have and will always have a place at Winterfell with your family. I know things have not always been ideal for you in the past, but I promise you, things will be better. Catelyn will ensure that you are treated comfortably and are protected when you get there. Robb knows to expect you soon, though I have not told him the circumstances of your homecoming._

_Love,_

_Father_

Silent tears ran down his face as he read, smearing the ink on the page. He would be ashamed of his tears, but old Maester Aemon was too blind to see them anyway.

Pity. He was being offered a place at Winterfell out of _pity_. Gods, he had become such a wretched creature that even Lady Stark, who absolutely loathed him, felt sorry enough for him that she would see to his _comfort_ and _protection_.

His father would have him return to Winterfell and be shut away and protected all his life. He would at least be around people he loved, but could he really handle being seen as a helpless omega that needed to be kept safe from the world?

Jon hadn’t been weak before his attack. And once he had healed, Jon was resolved to _never_ be weak again.

He would always feel weak at Castle Black. This was where he had been violated and torn to shreds from the inside out. This was where he would always be looking at the men around him with suspicion.

He would be weak at Winterfell, too, though. Even if his father hadn’t told Robb, his brother would know soon enough and would likely never see Jon as anything near an equal again, no matter how good a fighter he became. Lady Stark, as well, would take her duty to _ensure his comfort and protection_ seriously and keep him stifled in the castle.

Unfortunately, those seemed to be his only two options.

tbc…


	3. Chapter Three

When word came that Tyrion Lannister had been spotted on the horizon heading to Winterfell, Robb’s first reaction had been to turn him away. If they were right that the Lannisters were responsible for the assassin that came after Bran, welcoming the half-man was out of the question.

But his father’s letter had told him to expect Jon’s return soon. While his father had not explained _why_ Jon was returning, Robb was hesitant to do anything that his brother might misconstrue as being anything but welcome at Winterfell.

As much as it pained him, then, he set aside his initial notion of greeting Lannister with a naked sword. Instead, he ensured that both Bran and Rickon were brought down to the Great Hall as the the party neared Winterfell. Rickon was antsy in his seat, though the promise of seeing Jon soon had at least got him in the seat for the time being.

Bran, though, was still depressed and the idea of seeing Jon barely perked him up. The maester had assured him that Bran’s mood would improve as he grew used to his new circumstances. Robb could hardly blame the boy, though. He couldn’t imagine losing the use of his own legs.

There weren’t many people in the hall. Just his brothers, the maester, Theon, and Hodor. Robb wasn’t entirely certain he could contain himself and greet Jon with any sort of decorum, and since this would be the first time Jon saw Bran, he wouldn’t want Jon to feel scrutinized for whatever emotions he let slip.

Robb couldn’t help letting his excitement build as the doors of the Great Hall opened. Jon’s missing presence had been a gaping hole at his side as he attempted to keep Winterfell running on his own. Whenever he had considered what it would be like to be Lord of Winterfell, he had never imagined Jon not being there—helping him, supporting him, calling him out when he was wrong…

Robb was extremely grateful at whatever had caused Jon to change his mind.

His heart sank as Tyrion walked in, escorted by a few brothers from the Night’s Watch, but with no Jon in sight. Had Jon changed his mind again? Robb had never known his brother to be a fickle person, and he didn’t think Jon would inform their father of any decision unless he were absolutely certain.

Rickon spoke up before he could. “Where’s Jon?” he asked in an almost accusatory voice, his little face scrunched up in resentment as he glared at the dwarf.

A flash of some emotion spread over Lannister’s face at being greeted by the question before any formal welcome could be made. 

_He’s probably insulted_ , Robb realized. Most lords would be if their host family immediately questioned them about a bastard before even offering them bread and salt. Anger roiled him at that, not only for the idea of anyone dismissing Jon as just a _bastard_ but also at the audacity of a _Lannister_ feeling insulted by a _Stark_ after what his family was suspected of doing.

Still, Jon would be the first one to tell him that he had to keep a level head and not react out of anger. He had already decided to welcome Lannister so changing course now would look worse than spurning him to begin with.

“Apologies, my lord,” he managed to get out in a formal, emotionless tone. “My lord father sent word that Jon should be expected to return to Winterfell soon. When we saw your party approaching—”

“You naturally assumed he’d be with me,” Tyrion cut in, giving an easy wave of his hand and a somewhat sympathetic smile. “I would have offered to wait him, my lord, but I confess, I did not care to spend two more moons freezing at the Wall while he healed.”

Robb opened his mouth to respond before closing as the dwarf’s words registered in his mind. “Healed?!” he exclaimed. “Healed from what?”

Robb’s mind ran through the injuries Jon could possibly have that would take so many weeks to heal. Each scenario seemed worse than the last, and he felt sick as he realized he had been _grateful_ that something had happened to change Jon’s mind. Gods, he had been grateful that Jon had been _hurt_.

Tyrion’s eyes widened in alarm and the black brothers behind him shifted uncomfortably. Robb glared at them. “What has happened to my brother?” he demanded.

Lannister sighed in defeat. “Perhaps the little ones shouldn’t be here. It is not a tale for young ears.”

“No!” Bran cried before Robb had a chance to answer. Robb’s head snapped towards his younger brother, who was showing more emotion than he had since he woke up. “Tell us what happened to Jon!”

Robb was torn. He had a sinking feeling in his gut that perhaps it would be best if Bran and Rickon weren’t around to hear what Tyrion had to say, but Bran had a stubborn set to his jaw as he turned to glare up at Robb.

“He’s our brother too,” he told him. 

Knowing there was no argument and not wanting to cause any other problems with his brothers, who already felt abandoned by the rest of their family, Robb nodded. He looked back at Tyrion in expectance.

Lannister did not look happy to be put on the spot. “Jon begged me not to tell you,” the dwarf said as a preface. “I suspect he did not want you to look at him any differently.” 

That sinking feeling in Robb’s gut had turned into a sickly churning. 

“He was returning to the barracks after his watch,” Tyrion continued, speaking softly as if it would lessen the blow. “We think some of the men, we don’t know who, must have ambushed him. They found him the next morning in the stables. He had been…” the dwarf’s mismatched eyes shifted towards Bran and Rickon, “…badly used.”

It took a moment for Robb to realize what Tyrion meant. Red filled his vision. Raped. They had _raped_ his little brother.

He looked down at the floor in an attempt to calm down and also to keep his eyes off of anyone else in the hall. He didn’t _care_ what anyone else in the hall thought. If anyone dared to make this into something that didn’t matter, he might’ve gutted them then and there.

He finally got enough control over his anger to speak. “This was done by brothers of the Night’s Watch?” he asked, voice as cold as winter.

Tyrion winced at his tone. “Jon did not see them,” he answered carefully. “But if they aren’t sworn brothers, then they were recruits who soon will be.”

“And then beyond the authority of our laws,” Robb all but snarled. What a stupid system, he seethed, that would let a man rape someone and escape justice just by saying a few words. And for what? To fight back wildlings? 

“My lord, perhaps we should let Lord Tyrion and his escort get some rest,” Maester Luwin broke through his rage.

Robb gave the men in front of him a sharp look. “Lord Tyrion is welcome to stay in Winterfell. The brothers of the Night’s Watch are not.”

Without waiting for any response, he turned and walked out of the Great Hall.

#

It had been a little over a moon since his attack, and Jon still felt raw and exposed in his head. There would be times where he felt normal, but then flashes of that night would pop into his head and send him spiraling once more. Wondering what he could have done differently to prevent his attack. How he could have fought harder and not just lain there and _let_ it happen.

This happened more when he let his mind wonder, so he had taken to reading books brought to him by Maester Aemon, if only to have something else to focus on, burning through candle after candle as he read well into the night.

His sleep, he had learned quickly, was no longer the safe haven of darkness it had been, not since the maester had deemed him well enough to stop taking milk of the poppy. Instead, nearly every night, he was transported back to the stables, unable to see or scream as hands pinned him down.

Despite his mental state, his physical injuries were mostly healed. He was still sore if he moved about too much, and Maester Aemon had been adamant that swordplay and horseback riding were out. Not that it mattered. Jon hadn’t even worked up the courage to leave his chambers.

He was starting to go a little stir-crazy being confined in this small room with only Ghost and actually the maester for company. But the idea of being around the other men at Castle Black, not knowing which ones had…

Jon balked at that. He couldn’t do it. That might make him a coward, but he couldn’t. 

He’d never be able to stay at the Night’s Watch, even if he hadn’t been ordered back to Winterfell by his father. Though Aemon had not come out and said it, Jon knew that they had no idea which of the men had actually attacked him, only that some of them _had_. Jon couldn’t take his vows and spend the rest of his life wondering which of the men he called brother were his rapers.

It was back to Winterfell, then. At least he knew the men he called brother there loved him and would never hurt him. Robb would most definitely be overprotective, and Lady Stark had apparently decided he was pitiful enough to be tolerated, but he would at least be safe and loved there.

Even if he were stifled.

Jon sighed to himself as he curled around Ghost for comfort. He yearned to feel safe and protected. He knew he always would as an omega. But he also needed to be self-reliant, to be trusted to take care of himself and to be able to take care of others. 

A gentle knock came from his door with the maester entering a moment later without bothering to wait for permission. Jon didn’t mind. The old maester’s presence was actually rather soothing and reassuring. Maybe it was because he was old and blind or maybe it was because he was another omega or maybe it was just because Aemon had a way of speaking truth in a gentle sort of way.

The maester arriving meant it was morning already. Aemon never spoke much during his visits, he just a quiet greeting as he sat quietly by Jon’s side while they both broke their fast. 

A few moment laters, a steward arrived with their meals breakfast leaving without a word. Jon hated how even the very short presence of an unfamiliar person left him nervous and a bit shaky.

He needed to get out of this room, he decided as he picked over his food. He would never get over this if he stayed cooped up here. But mingling with the Night’s Watch was out of the question. But where else was there to go?

“Is there a godswood here?” Jon asked, breaking the comfortable silence between him and the maester.

The maester’s eyebrows rose thoughtfully. “No,” he answered. “There is a grove of weirwood trees about half a league from here in the haunted forest. It’s close enough to the Wall that anyone visiting is quite safe from wildings. It’s where are recruits who follow the old gods swear their vows.”

Something twisted in Jon’s gut as he realized that, despite the support of the North, the Night’s Watch did not have a place where the northmen could worship their gods. Perhaps it had in the past, Jon reasoned, as he knew the abandoned Nightfort used to be the main castle on the Wall. Still, the fact that he would have to go north of the Wall to be in the presence of his gods made him even more sure that he was making the right choice in not taking his vows.

“I’d like to go,” he told the maester.

Aemon gave him an understanding nod. “I’m sure the Lord Commander will be happy to have some men escort you.”

“No!” Jon was quick to shoot down the idea of an escort. What if the men chosen were the same men who had attacked him? “All I need is Ghost.”

“You are still not entirely healed, Jon,” the maester said with a frown. “It’s not a long journey, but I’m not sure you’re up to it.”

“I’ll go slowly,” he insisted, suddenly eager to leave the castle if only for a little while. “Ghost will likely appreciate the extra time to hunt anyway. If wildlings aren’t a problem, I’d really like to be alone.”

The old man took a few more moments to think it over before finally agreeing. Aemon stepped out of the room so Jon could dress, which he did in a hurry. Now, with the opportunity to get out of this room and still be alone with his own thoughts, Jon was itching to leave.

Aemon escorted him down to the courtyard to the tunnel. Jon wasn’t sure how the man do it, especially blind, but he managed to take them by a path where they met as few people as possible. This was helped by the fact that most of the men were likely in the mess hall breaking their fast.

“Should I take a weapon?” Jon asked as they neared the tunnel. “Just in case?”

“No,” the maester was quick to answer. “There’s no danger and… well, it’s just best if you don’t. The weirwood trees are about half a league north, northwest. I am told that they are hard to miss.”

Jon puzzled over his words as the gates to the tunnel opened. Why would it best if he didn’t have a weapon? It wasn’t until he and Ghost had made it to the other side that Jon realized what the maester meant.

He was afraid Jon would take his own life.

The thought sent shivers down his spine, not only that Maester Aemon would think such a thing, but also because, now that the thought was in his mind, it didn’t sound like such a terrible thing.

Jon pushed the thought out of his head. He couldn’t do that to his family. Robb and Arya would be devastated, and Bran already had enough to deal with without having to mourn the death of his craven brother. Little Rickon would be too young to understand, but he liked to thank even Sansa would cry if he were to die.

Ghost shot off like lightning as soon as the heavy gate closed behind them. Now that Jon was alone, the direwolf obviously didn’t feel the need to stick as close to his side as he had been. It was reassuring, in a way. Just he and Ghost, alone for what was probably miles.

Jon kept his promise to take the journey easy, but even with the snow, it didn’t take him long to reach the weirwood grove Aemon had told him about. The maester was right. It was hard to miss the nine massive trees, all with a distinctive face carved into their trunks.

He sank to his knees in front of them, keeping his eyes locked on the ground. For some reason, Jon didn’t feel worthy to look at the faces. Not now. Not after what had happened.

Jon felt as if he were being judged as the snow melted under his knees and soaked into his trousers. But somehow, as time passed, a feeling of comfort started to seep into him as well. It was as if the old gods had judged him and not found him wanting, but instead sought to alleviate his anguish. As if he were guilt-free.

Tears filled his eyes as he basked in the feeling. He didn’t deserve it, but he took the comfort anyway.

Jon wasn’t sure how long he knelt there. Far longer than he should have, as his body was beginning to feel sore as his barely-healed injuries made themselves known. The sun was nearly at its apex in the sky when he finally stood, wondering how far out Ghost had gone.

He smiled as he heard the snap of a twig behind him, sure it was his direwolf making his presence known. His smile fell, though, as he realized the odd link he had with Ghost still felt like it was stressed incredibly far.

“Turn around slowly, little crow,” a cold voice told him. “Any sudden move, and you’re dead.”

Fear thrummed through Jon as he slowly spun to face his foe. 

There were six of them. In their center was an incredibly tall and broad alpha with fiery red hair, an small ax in one hand and a long sword in the other. At his side, another redhead, but an omega woman by the smell of her, had an arrow notched and aimed straight at his heart. Jon didn’t get a chance to register the other four as the two redheads stepped forward, the woman’s arrow not wavering from its target.

The tall, imposing alpha gave him a smile that was more frightening than any glower could be. “We didn’t think it’d be this easy to capture a crow. Mance will be pleased.”

Jon cursed his rotten luck, flicking his eyes to the weirwoods in slight betrayal. Whatever comfort the old gods had sought to give him seemed empty in the face of his captors.

“The gods can’t help you, little crow,” the tall redhead told him. He glanced at one of the other men. “Bind his hands and check him for weapons. We’ll need to get moving so that no one comes looking for him.”

tbc…


	4. Chapter Four

His captors set a brutal pace that Jon was forced to keep up with by taunt rope being gripped by a blonde, broad-shouldered wildling woman. Though she was not as tall as the redheaded alpha that seemed to be the leader of the group, she still towered over Jon by at least a head. Jon glared right back at her when her hard, brown eyes turned on him whenever she thought he wasn’t going fast enough. Even rarer than an omega man was an alpha woman, but Jon found that her being a woman made it easier to overcome his instinct to shrink away.

The same could not be said, though, for the short beta man that walked beside her and kept sending Jon suspicious glances. Jon hated himself a little for letting the man intimidate him. He was, after all, barely taller than Jon and obviously leaner. Before his attack, Jon not fear such a man, even if his hands were bound in front of him.

The beta at his back made him even more nervous, mostly because Jon could not _see_ him. He tried to concentrate on moving his feet forward and not on the eyes he occasionally felt on his back.

Would they decide to have some fun with him as well once they were far enough away from the Wall? That’s what wildlings did, wasn’t it? Raided the North and raped the northerner women and omegas?

Jon bit down on his lip so hard it was a miracle it didn’t bleed. He didn’t know if he could endure that pain and humiliation again, not when his every step was beginning to shoot a sharp pain up his spine.

If it came to it, he would make them kill him, Jon decided. He was sure he could goad them into it. Still, he was hoping he could make his escape before then.

“What’s the hold up?” the other alpha asked as he hung back from the two redheads in the front.

“The crow won’t walk any faster,” the spearwife holding his rope said, tugging him forward so roughly that he nearly tripped. 

Jon let out an involuntary cry of pain at the movement before quickly looking down and biting him lip once more. He would _not_ let his captors know how weak he was.

“Trying to slow us up, crow?” the alpha asked, leaning in close to him and giving him a cruel smile. Jon tried to lean away but the man snatched his chin tightly with his hand. “No one’s going to come looking for you yet, boy. Tell him, Orell, are there any crows on our trail?”

The beta next to them dropped to his knees as his eyes went white. Jon stared at him, so dumbfounded that he almost was able to forget his fear at the alpha gripping him. Orell grinned after a few moments and his eyes became normal once more.

“There’s no one anywhere near us for miles,” the beta told him.

That wasn’t exactly true, Jon knew, though whatever sorcery Orell was using wouldn’t know the ally Jon had in the white direwolf that had caught up with them a couple of hours ago. Knowing Ghost couldn’t take all six of them at once and not wanting his wolf to be hurt, Jon was biding his time. Hopefully, when they settled down for the night, Ghost could silently take out whoever was put on watch and allow Jon to sneak away.

“No one to hear you scream,” the alpha promised with a nasty smile. “Poor little crow, all alone. And soon enough, you’ll be crowing for us.”

“Sigorn!” the redhead alpha yelled as he glared back at them. “Stop playing with the crow and get a move on!”

The alpha sneered but let him go, grey eyes holding Jon’s for a few more moments before moving back to the front. The redheaded omega growled something at him before shoving him and stomping ahead. The alpha’s shoulders slumped a bit, and for whatever reason, Jon felt as if he had just witnessed a discreet lover’s quarrel. 

He shook his head and put the two out of his mind. Now that they were back to nearly jogging across the snow, his legs felt like jelly beneath him as every footfall led to daggers of pain to what felt like every nerve in his body. He couldn’t go on like this, but he couldn’t let them see his weakness. He had to push on. He _had_ to.

His legs gave out despite his determination to move forward. He cried out in pain as the alpha woman dragged him behind her for a few agonizing seconds before she realized he had fallen.

The beta behind him nudged at one of his feet, and Jon could not hold in his whimper.

“He’s a soft little crow if he can’t handle a little running,” the woman said in disgust.

Jon could feel his face flushing in shame as he attempted to scramble to his feet despite his hands being bound, but his aching body just would not cooperate. How was he supposed to escape if he couldn’t move? He was next to useless as it was, and even if Ghost somehow managed to kill all six of his captors, he’d never be able to make it back to Castle Black on his own.

They were all six of them gathered around him now. “Ragwyle, what’d you do to him?” the redheaded alpha yelled. “Mance needs him well enough to be questioned!”

“I did nothing to him, Tormund!” she snapped right back. “He just toppled over as if someone had cut his strings!”

“It seems the crows are getting desperate for fresh meat and are taking any weak little thing that crawls into their castle,” Orell sneered. “Get up, crow! We’re not done for the day!”

“I’m not a crow!” Jon finally growled, the only denial he could really give. After all, he was weak and, from what he could tell, the Night’s Watch was desperate for recruits. He could feel Ghost in the back of his mind, the wolf ready to jump forward to defend him. Jon mentally begged him to stay put, not wanting him to be hurt. There were too many of them.

He fought back the pain and finally pushed himself up onto his knees, grimacing as his entire body seemed to scream at him. “I can go on,” he lied. To be honest, he was afraid of what would happen once they stopped for camp.

“No, you can’t,” the redheaded omega said with a roll of her eyes, speaking for the first time. “Can’t you daft idiots see anything? He’s injured. He’s no good to us dead.”

Her sharp-eyes were apparently good at seeing more than just her targets. Jon wasn’t going to let on, though, that his injuries were far from life-threatening. At least, he didn’t think they were anymore. Maybe they’d leave him alone if they wanted to make sure he lived long enough to see who he could only surmise was Mance Rayder, the King-Beyond-the-Wall.

The tall alpha, Tormund the other had called him, looked down at him critically for a few moments before nodding. “We’ll make camp here. Ragwyle, secure the baby crow,” he ordered. “Longspear, gather some wood for the fire. Ygritte, go with him and see if you can find anything some fresh meat. Sigorn, dig a pit for the fire. Orell, keep your eyes in the sky.”

The orders were apparently familiar to the other wildlings because they were all moving to complete their tasks before Tormund was even through talking.

“And what are _you_ going to do?” the alpha called Sigorn asked even as he slung his pack off his shoulder and began marking off a fire pit.

“I’m going to talk to the crow,” Tormund answered with a smirk.

Jon shuddered at that as Ragwyle manhandled him towards a thick tree near where Sigorn was making the fire pit. She spun him around so that his back was pressed towards the tree. He hissed as his backside came into contact with the cold, hard ground, and the impact traveled painfully up his spine. He supposed he should be happy the ground wasn’t wet with snow.

“You gotta piss?” Ragwyle asked him gruffly. He winced but nodded. His bladder had been protesting for a least an hour to the point where it was beginning to get painful. She humphed in acknowledgement. “You want me to guard you while doing it or Tormund?”

Jon was surprised that he was given an option, but figured it was because she herself didn’t want to watch him. Jon snuck a glance at Tormund and bit his lip. Risking her potential wrath was much preferable than being alone with the large redhead. “You,” he muttered.

She just nodded curtly, pulling him to his feet and pushing him away from the camp almost before he was able to get his feet under him properly. They didn’t go far, but it was far enough away that he could no longer see any of the others through the trees. Ragwyle gave him the decency of very obviously averting her eyes as he relieved himself. 

Ragwyle pushed him back towards the camp once he was done and back towards the tree she had shoved him against earlier. Jon bit his lip to keep from crying out as he was he was forced once more into an upright sitting position against the tree,Ragwyle grabbed pulled out another length of rope and made to wrap it around the tree. Jon squirmed slightly as he thought about how much pain he would be in before the night were over after being bound tightly to the tree.

“Ragwyle,” Tormund’s voice stopped her. He gave Jon an indecipherable look. “Just bind his legs together. He’s not going anywhere. No need to waste the rope.”

She nodded before binding his ankles together. Jon had to admit he was grateful, no matter what the wildling leader’s intentions were. He curled his bound legs up and shifted so that his left hip was supporting most of his weight. He sighed in relief as this alleviated the pressure on his sore muscles. He leaned his head against the bark of the tree and closed his eyes, feeling drained.

Jon felt himself drift for a bit after that, thankful to be left alone to rest after his harrowing day. His eyes popped open some time later, though, when he felt a presence looming over him.

“That hardly seems like a comfortable position,” Tormund remarked as he eased down to lean against the tree next to Jon.

Jon froze at the alpha’s close proximity, trying and failing to control the fear welling inside him.

Tormund huffed and shook his head. “Calm down, little crow. We’re not going to hurt you.” He shot him a grin and wink. “Gotta get you back to Mance first. Then he’ll decide what to do with ya.” 

“I’m not a crow,” he protested again, hating how out of sorts the alpha’s closeness was making him. Maybe he shouldn’t have let them know he wasn’t a brother of the Night’s Watch. They had obviously taken him in the hopes of questioning a black brother about the defenses on the Wall. If he wasn’t a crow, he really wasn’t much use to them.

“No, you’re not,” Tormund agreed suspiciously easily. “Knew that from the moment we could smell you. You don’t smell like an omega crow. You’ve been with the crows, though, so you can still be of use.”

Jon should’ve known that the wildlings would have come across omega brothers before and, like Maester Aemon, they had probably smelled off. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that not being a sworn brother would save him. The wildlings hated everyone that lived south of the Wall. No matter what Tormund said, he knew that his captivity would likely end with his death if he couldn’t get free.

He debated whether it would be better to have Ghost take out their watch tonight and sneak away despite how awful he felt. He was likely to only get worse if the wildlings kept up their brisk pace, and he’d never get a chance if they made it back to their main camp where Mance Rayder was. Besides, the closer he was to the Wall meant the less he’d have to travel to find safety, and they had already made the mistake of underestimating by not binding him to tree.

“Were the crows the ones that hurt you?” Tormund’s question broke through his thoughts. Jon started at that, head snapping to gape at the alpha. Surely he didn’t really care? “You can’t have much reason to protect them if they were.”

Jon huffed a self-deprecating laugh. Of course. Tormund was trying to play mind games with him. That didn’t stop him from being right, of course. Jon didn’t have much reason to protect the men who had raped him, but that didn’t mean that they all deserved to die. Many of them might have been sent to the Wall to escape punishment for crimes, but there were also those that had been as deluded as Jon.

“I wasn’t there long enough to learn about their defenses, if that’s what you want to know,” Jon told him truthfully. “I was… attacked… shortly after I arrived,” he tripped over the word as he said it, not wanting to admit to this wildling just how horrific that night was and insignificant “attack” was to describe it. “I was confined to my room after that.”

From Tormund’s sideways glance, Jon was sure that the alpha knew exactly what had been done to him. His head drooped lower as a hard pit settled in his stomach. Why couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut? Did he really have to let his captors know his shame? 

“And you decided to come into the North instead of going south?” Tormund asked in disbelief. “The crows must be dumber than I thought if they don’t know what kinds of things roam this land these days.”

Jon shrugged, not knowing what Tormund was talking about and really just wanting the man to go away. He was too close, and with the knowledge of Jon’s attack hanging between them, he was afraid the man would get ideas.

Thankfully, Tormund must have decided that he wouldn’t be getting anything out of Jon and got up as soon as Ygritte appeared with a couple braces of rabbits.

Jon sagged against the tree and closed his eyes once more, not caring how he appeared to his captors. They already thought him weak. Did it really matter if he let it show? His body was tired, worn, and sore from misuse, and he was the prisoner of people who were just going to kill him anyway. What did he care if he let some of his weakness show?

He tuned out the sounds of the camp, idly wondering what the Night’s Watch would do when he never came back. Would they send someone after him? Or would they consider him one less problem to deal with? What would his father do? He probably wouldn’t blame the Watch for his loss. Jon had taken the risk to go pray beyond the Wall, after all.

Robb would take it hard, he knew. Arya might try and sneak beyond the Wall herself in an attempt to find him. Jon hoped that being all the way in King’s Landing would prevent her from doing something that foolish.

Lady Stark was likely to be relieved. Now he wouldn’t be coming back to Winterfell and forcing her to be nice to him out of pity.

“Wake up, crow,” a voice disrupted his depressing musings. It was the redheaded omega crouching next to him now. She held out a stick that had cooked pieces of rabbit speared on it. He took it hesitantly. “Eat up,” Ygritte told him as she flopped down ungracefully beside him.

The rabbit was tough and didn’t have much flavor, but it was warm and filling, at least. He didn’t even mind that Ygritte’s blue eyes watched him carefully as he ate. The omega girl didn’t particularly worry him. While he was sure she could fight as fiercely as any of them and gut him without half a thought while he was all tied up, something about the curious light in her eyes put him at ease.

That, and the fact that he felt safe with the knowledge that she was both a woman and an omega, and could not hurt him like he had been hurt before.

“What kind of omega volunteers to have himself neutered?” she asked suddenly, leaning in close to him as he chewed on a particularly tough piece of meat. “I always wondered that about you crows. The alphas and the betas vowing now to fuck is bad enough, but how much do you have to hate yourself as an omega to hurt yourself like that?”

Jon swallowed thickly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered before taking another bite. His initial decision to join the Watch had nothing to do with hating himself. He might hate himself _now_ , but then? No, he had just wanted to be somewhere where it didn’t _matter_ what he was. Omega, bastard, the Wall wasn’t supposed to care.

Ygritte scoffed. “I know exactly what I’m talking about. I’m an omega, aren’t I? Do the crow omegas even have heats anymore? Can they even get _wet_?”

He colored at that. The only other omega he had known at the Watch had been Maester Aemon, and he certainly didn’t want to think about _that_ in connection with the kindly old man.

“Of course, they don’t have heats anymore,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “That’s kind of the point.”

“What’s so bad about having heats?” she asked, giving him a sly grin. “You get all hot and bothered and any man you want is just itching to fuck you and please you.” The rest of the camp had gone suspiciously silent as Ygritte spoke. “And when he does, it all feels so sweet and intense and it lasts for _days_.”

“Aye, any man you don’t want as well,” he muttered without being able to stop himself. He couldn’t seem to help showing more of himself than he really wanted.

She looked taken aback at that. “That’s vile!” she growled in disgust. “The gods curse the men who take an unwilling omega in heat. Not that you southerners know anything about the gods.”

“I’m not a southerner,” he protested numbly as he tried to process the fact that one of his greatest fears, one of the biggest reasons he left Winterfell, seemed to be as big a sin as breaking guest rights to the wildlings. “We worship the same gods. That’s how you were able to capture me in the first place.”

Ygritte had to be wrong. Or maybe she just had never been around enough men during heat to have been disillusioned. Besides, she was a woman. Women omegas were treated well even in the real South.

“You’re doing it wrong if your southern alphas and betas would force themselves on you during heat,” she told him before jumping up and storming away.

Jon was left alone with his thoughts for the rest of the night. He watched the others’ movements with wary eyes, hating himself for flinching whenever one of the men moved too close. 

He frowned when he realized they were taking the watches two at a time. Ghost could take out one without alerting the others, but with two, whichever one he got to second would likely raise the alarm. It would be risky to chance it. If it were his life, he might take the risk, but he wouldn’t endanger Ghost.

So he silently willed Ghost to stay away before closing his eyes and shifting to get more comfortable. If he wasn’t going to escape tonight, he should definitely get as much rest as possible.

tbc…


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll notice that I've removed the Robb/Roslin tag. I realized that some of my changes to the War of Five Kings will shift things so that that won't be a match Robb would make.

“What about bonded omegas?” Ygritte asked him without preamble, following into step beside him.

Jon gave her a confused frown, trying to focus on keeping himself plodding forward with the rest of them. Tormund had given him a slight reprieve again that morning by telling Ragwyle that there was no need to lead him by rope, but it was still a bit difficult to balance over the often uneven terrain with both hands tied in front of him.

“What are you talking about?” he grumbled. Did she really have to pry so much? What difference did it make to her how omegas were treated south of the Wall? And why did all the others seem so intent on listening in. Even Tormund had fallen back a bit so that he could be in earshot of their conversation.

They were probably hoping to discover something they could use against him. They could probe all they want, he thought. It wasn’t like he didn’t know the reality of how omegas were treated.

“During their heats,” she elaborated with a roll of her eyes, as if he were stupid for not realizing that she was picking up their conversation from last night. “No one would take a _bonded_ omega against their will during their heat, right? Or at least their bondmate would be there and wouldn’t let them?”

“Nobody wants to bond with an omega man,” he told her with a shrug. He wasn’t entirely sure if that was completely true. Low-born omega men might find alphas or betas that would bond with them. But the omega sons of nobles, whether true born or bastard, would never find anyone willing to bond with them. And even if Jon had been able to find an alpha or beta commoner that would dare to love even the bastard son of the great Lord Stark, his father would never permit the match.

“Oh, yes, they do!” Ygritte shot back. “Don’t be stupid!”

Jon shook his head. “They don’t really see bonding as separate from marrying down south. You’re suppose to marry the person you bond with.”

“Neither do we!” she insisted, looking offended by the insinuation. “We might not have some complicated ceremony like you southerners, but we pledge ourselves to our bondmates in front of a hearttree in the eyes of the gods.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he replied, suppressing an exasperated sigh as he navigated over a large tangled clump of roots. He nearly lost his footing before a small, but strong hand steadied his shoulder.

Ygritte raised an eyebrow at his surprised look, letting go of his shoulder as soon as they had made it to more sturdy ground. “So what did you mean?”

He frowned as he tried to choose his words to convey his thoughts. He had never actually had to explain this before, and honestly, most people down south would probably be offended by his explanation anyway. “Well, alpha and beta men want to marry women so that their authority isn’t undermined.”

“ _Authority_? Like they _control_ their women?” she scoffed. “Who’d want to marry anyone so weak that they’d be controlled by anyone?”

“The laws are written to give men the advantage over women,” Jon replied. “It’s not a matter of being weak, though I think most men prefer women who will defer to them.”

Ygritte sneered at the idea of deferring to men. Jon couldn’t say he blamed her. He thought the entire system flawed as well, even if it had protected him somewhat from Lady Stark’s ire. Still, he had listened to Arya’s complaining about how _ladies_ were supposed to behave to know that highborn women were at a disadvantage.

“What does that have to do with omega men?”

Jon shrugged. “Omega men don’t fit. As men, they can have the same physical strength as alpha and beta men, and the same benefits under the law.”

“You kneelers and your silly _laws_ ,” Ygritte remarked mockingly. “The only laws that matter are the laws of the gods. Other than that, why can’t you just let people be free? Why do you care what people do when the gods don’t?”

He couldn’t really think of an argument for that. Most crimes like murder, raping, and stealing were against the laws of the old gods and the new. Laws of men might enforce them, but they never needed laws to condemn breaking guest rights or kinslaying.

“We’re free up here,” she continued with a superior smirk. “And our alphas and betas smart enough to know that a strong bondmate is better than a weak one.”

Jon snorted at that. “Guess I’d be ruled out as a bondmate here too,” he commented, well-aware that he was weaker than most.

Ygritte laughed without trying to persuade him otherwise.

#

“This is Lannister’s third night here,” Theon reminded him with a scowl, catching Robb outside of his chambers before they joined the rest of the household for supper. “What would your mother say if she knew you were allowing your brother to sit down at the same table as his would-be murderer?”

Robb frowned. The truth was, he had stopped considering Tyrion Lannister as a potential enemy. It had been a gradual shifting of his perception of the dwarf to where he couldn’t quite say when he had made the decision. Perhaps it was the genuine regret and sorrow he had shown when he had told them what had happened with Jon. Perhaps it was the saddle he had designed for Bran, a kindness that had been offered when it hadn’t needed to be.

But mostly, he thought, it was the fact that Tyrion had managed to draw Bran out of his shell and seemed to enjoy keeping Rickon occupied whenever the younger boy trailed after him. Robb hadn’t known how to handle his brothers since their parents had left. The novelty of Tyrion there had been enough to help Rickon, and Bran had found someone he could commiserate with about his new physical limitations.

“I do not believe it is in Tyrion Lannister’s character to shove a boy off a tower or to send an assassin after him,” Robb stated, not understanding how Theon couldn’t see that. The older man must be able to see how Tyrion was with the boys.

Theon gave him a disbelieving look. “Why? Because he plays nice with your brothers? Don’t be naive, Robb.”

Robb flushed, hoping the dark lighting of the corridor would hide it. To be honest, Robb had been floundering and doubting himself ever since his father had gone south. Theon had been supportive of him and provided silent reassurance to him. His incredulity right now left him feeling a bit wrong-footed.

“I’m not being naive,” he argued despite his self-doubt. “I’m just not letting myself be blinded by preconceived notions that are not supported by any evidence.”

“He’s playing you, Robb!” Theon insisted, grabbing him by the shoulder. “He’s just pretending to be harmless so that he can get closer to your family.”

“To what end?” Robb asked in exasperation. “Why cheer up Bran or play with Rickon? To endear himself to me? I would think he and I are both intelligent enough to know that such small gestures would not warrant any large favors. And if he wants to curry favor with a Stark, he’s better doing it with the ones in King’s Landing.”

Theon rolled his eyes as he released his shoulder. “You’d be surprised at how much people let you get away with if you’re friendly with them,” he muttered before stalking away.

Robb frowned after him, mulling over his final words as he walked towards the Great Hall for supper. He froze in his tracks as the realization hit him like he had been kicked in the head by a horse.

Theon was talking about himself.

Robb grit his teeth in anger as he stomped towards the Great Hall. Of _course_ Theon had been talking about himself. How much had Robb overlooked because Theon was his friend? Robb hated how Theon disrespected the maids at Winterfell and frequented the brothels in Wintertown. Why had he never said anything?

Gods, he had even let his regard for Theon keep him from protecting Jon from him. Not that Jon ever _told_ him the things Theon said to him, but Robb knew. How he would call Jon a bastard, or leer at him for being an omega. Seven hells, Theon had even once made a comment to Jon about sneaking into his room during a heat, if what he had heard from others was true. It might have all been said in his earshot, but Robb should have said something anyway.

Not anymore, he decided vehemently as he stalked into the Great Hall, glaring at Theon who was already sitting at the seat to the right of Robb’s seat. Theon looked puzzled at the hostility in his stare, but said nothing as Tyrion strolled in a moment later.

Robb was tempted to tell Theon to move, but resolved to just ignore him for the night. He was too angry right now to address the issue anyway.

After the food had been served and mostly eaten, Tyrion turned from his conversation with Bran to address Robb. “Lord Robb, I thank you for your hospitality, but I do believe I have lingered here long enough.”

He plastered on a somewhat wooden smile, a small voice in his head whispering that Theon might be right. He pushed it away, resolved to never again let someone trick him with friendship again. “I hope your stay has been comfortable, my lord,” he said graciously. “I thank you for all you have done for my brothers.”

Tyrion gave him a sad smile. “I only wish I had been able to do more for your other brother, my lord.”

Theon gave a rude snort at his side, which Robb ignored. The ironborn heir had been getting more and more sullen at receiving Robb’s cold shoulder, and more and more drunk, as supper went on.

Robb didn’t like to dwell on what had happened to Jon at the Wall. It felt too much like a failure on his own part. _He_ had let his younger _omega_ brother go off to the Night’s Watch with a bunch of rapers and murderers. He should have fought harder, should have assured Jon that he would _always_ be safe and secure at Winterfell.

“I am sure there was nothing you could do, my lord, to have prevented the tragedy,” Robb said, brushing his words aside.

“Oh come _on_ ,” Theon drawled in a nasty voice. “It’s not some great fucking tragedy. Snow just got fucked. He’s an _omega_. That’s what they’re _made_ for.”

Without even considering his actions, Robb stood quickly and dragged Theon from the Great Hall. With as drunk as the man was, it was hardly a fight to get him away from where he could spout more vile words within Bran and Rickon’s hearing.

His fist found the ironborn’s face as soon as they were outside in the courtyard. Theon’s nose crunched under his knuckles, and he went down for a moment, staring up at Robb in shock as blood poured from his nostrils. With a cry, Theon was up and rushing at him, but with his uncoordinated movements, Robb easily dodged his blow before slamming him against the cold stone wall and pressing his forearm against Theon’s throat.

Robb felt Grey Wind come to his side before he heard the wolf growling at Theon, who, for his part, looked somewhere between stunned and terrified.

“You forget yourself, _hostage_ ,” Robb spat, satisfied by the way Theon flinched at the word. “If you dare speak of my brother like that again, I will have you thrown in the dungeons so that you remember your place.”

He pushed off the wall and away from Theon, turning his back to him and stalking away, confident that Grey Wind would make quick work of the squid should he try to attack him from behind.

He went straight to his own chambers, still seething and in no condition to answer Bran or Rickon’s question or play nice with the Lannister.

#

Jon watched as his captors set up camp. He honestly felt a little useless as he sat on the ground while everyone was busy with their own tasks. It was ridiculous, he knew. He was their prisoner. He didn’t have to pull his own weight with these people. They were keeping him with them against his will, after all.

Still, Jon never had done well with sitting idle and letting others do work for him.

“You’re not gonna get away with sleeping away from the rest of us tonight, crow,” Sigorn told him, the alpha giving him an unreadable look from where he was building the fire. “The chill in the air bodes for a cold night.”

“Leave the crow alone, Sigorn,” Tormund ordered as he walked back into the camp with an armload of wood. Ygritte’s glare at the other alpha seemed to quail him more than Tormund’s words, though.

“The Thenn is being an ass, but he’s right,” Tormund continued, plopping down onto the ground next to him. “It’ll be too cold for you to rely on the fire alone to keep you warm tonight. “You can share my bed roll, tonight. There’s room enough for a tiny thing like you. I’ll keep you warm, little crow.”

The terror that came with the idea of sleeping in close proximity with the alpha nearly choked Jon, but he managed to nod anyway. He wasn’t an idiot. It had been freezing the night before, and though he had managed to sleep through it despite his shivering, his limbs had been stiff and aching when he woke up. If tonight was going to be _colder_ , and he didn’t doubt Sigorn’s prediction, he knew he couldn’t survive huddle under his own cloak by the fire.

Still, the prospect of sleeping next to Tormund, of being in such a vulnerable position next to the large alpha, weighed heavily on his mind the entire evening. The fear was enough that he contemplated refusing and sleeping out in the cold on his own. They wouldn’t let him, though. They needed him alive so that Mance Rayder could interrogate him about the Night’s Watch.

Maybe he should have risked running last night, he thought miserably, as the others began preparing to bed down for the night as Orell and Ragwyle took watch. He might have made it. Ghost would have been a surprise they would not have prepared for.

Jon eyed Tormund carefully as he rolled out a large and thick animal hide on the ground. He had been too out of it the previous night to notice how the wildlings slept at night. Upon closer inspection, Jon could see that the animal hide was doubled in on itself, with one its bottom sewn shut. Tormund folded the top corner of the top layer down, revealing the fur lining underneath. Jon couldn’t help but admire the wildlings’ ingenuity. The animal hide was treated in a way that would prevent moisture from the melting snow beneath them from seeping in, and the fur would add extra warmth.

Jon had to admit that it looked inviting, but he shuddered when his eyes shifted to look at Tormund. Perhaps he should have asked to share with someone else. But he could see Ygritte crawling into furs sandwiched between Sigorn and Longspear, and with Orell and Ragwyle on watch, he resigned himself to sleeping next to Tormund.

“In you go, little crow,” Tormund said, raising an expectant eyebrow at him.

Jon wondered if the man would force him into the furs if he didn’t go willing. He signed, not wanting to antagonize the alpha that held so much power over him, and stood hesitantly. Under the alpha’s heavy blue gaze, Jon walked the short distance and reluctantly crawled into the furs.

He cringed as Tormund slid in after him. The alpha’s large bulk definitely blocked any cold air from seeping in and was like a hot wall of fire at his side. While he was warm, Jon was far from comfortable with Tormund’s body pressed close against his own.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to lie. Lying on his back put too much pressure on the muscles aching from the harsh trek in the snow and his barely healed injuries. Lying on his side facing Tormund, but sleeping with him pressing against his back…

“Stop thinking so much, little crow,” Tormund grumbled, throwing an arm around him and rolling him closer so that his face was pressed into the alpha’s chest. Jon had to admit that it was probably the least threatening and painful position, even if being so close to the alpha caused him to stiffen in fear. “Should’ve cut your ropes before. You’d’ve been more comfortable.”

Though Jon highly doubted the man cared too much about his comfort, he appreciated that Tormund hadn’t commented on his obvious fear or the fact that he had buried his face in the alpha’s chest.

“I’m not a crow so you can stop calling me one,” Jon mumbled back, wanting to distract himself from his current situation.

“Got nothing else to call you. You haven’t give us a name,” Tormund reminded him, his voice rumbling in his chest and, in an odd way, soothing Jon a bit.

He frowned at that. He hadn’t realized he hadn’t told them his name. Though to be fair, they hadn’t given him theirs. He had just picked up on them as they spoke to each other.

“It’s Jon,” he said at finally, not giving him his full name. He didn’t know how much Tormund or his other captors knew about customs south of the Wall, but if they knew only acknowledged highborn bastards got names like “Snow,” they might try to use him against his family. He wouldn’t let them do that.

There was a long pause that made him think maybe Tormund had already fallen asleep, until he finally muttered, “Go to sleep, Jon.”

Though he had been sure that sleep would elude him, Jon found himself quickly slipping away, warmer than he had been in days and with Tormund’s steady breathing lulling him to sleep.

Jon was jerked away by a loud cry sometime later. Before he could even process what was happening, Tormund had rolled away from him and out from under the furs, standing ready with a sword in one hand and an axe in the other. Jon scrambled out of the furs as well, but stayed crouched on the ground as he surveyed the scene. Without a weapon, if there was an attack, it was best to stay low.

His eyes widened in horror as he looked up just in time to see Ragwyle shove her spear into the gut of a tall, deathly pale man with eerie bright blue eyes. The man did not even seem to notice the spear, though, as he slammed a knife into Ragwyle’s neck.

He looked up to see Ygritte, Sigorn, and Longspear fending off two similar… people? Were they people? Gods, they didn’t _move_ like people… Longspear had a torch that he kept swinging at them, which caused them to scrabble backwards only to move forward again once the flame was pointed to another one. Longspear stabbed his torch forward and managed to touch one of the creatures, who screamed as it burst into flames.

Suddenly, one bolted from the trees straight at Tormund, who raised his blade but Jon knew it would be as effective as Ragwyle’s spear. Without thinking, Jon dove towards the fire and grabbed a burning log. He jumped up while holding the log out and thrust it at the thing that was attacking the alpha.

Jon leaped back as the fire instantly began to consume the thing in front of him, grateful for the strong hand that steadied him. He gaped as he took in the visage of the thing burning. Half of its face had rotted away to reveal the skull underneath. Gods, what _was_ it?

He breathed heavily as he glanced around, seeing that Ygritte, Sigorn, and Longspear had seemed to take care of the rest of their attackers. Ragwyle was still on the ground surrounded by a pool of blood. There was no sign of Orell.

He didn’t know why his breathing was so labored. He felt as if something was squeezing his lung as he stared at the thing that had collapsed in front of him. It burned for a few more moments before the snow beneath it finally extinguished the flames. He barely noticed when Tormund steered him away from the camp and pushed him down onto the ground next to a weirwood tree within sight of the camp.

Jon blinked as the alpha walked away, grabbing Sigorn and striding into the woods for some unknown reason. He stared dumbly at the other two, who were moving Ragwyle’s body nearer to where Jon was sitting. While they were still maneuvering her body, Jon felt a warm present settle at his side. Even Ghost’s presence, though, couldn’t settle the unsettling feeling he felt as, a few moments later, Tormund and Sigorn were returning carrying Orell’s body between them.

They then all began gathering wood and piling it under and around their fallen comrades’ bodies. It startled Jon to realize that they meant to burn them. It showed how occupied they were with their tasks that they didn’t even notice that Ghost was there, though Jon reasoned that his white fur and red eyes were easy to overlook next to a weirwood.

He still hadn’t moved or spoken a word by the time the two pyres were lit and blazing. He heard Tormund tell the others to go back and pack up the camp before the alpha turned to look at Jon.

If the mood weren’t so serious, Jon might have laughed at how wide the wildling’s eyes became as he finally registered Ghost’s presence.

“Jon, don’t move,” the alpha hissed, reaching for his sword.

Jon shook his head and threw an arm around Ghost’s neck to show that there was no danger. Tormund’s eyes somehow became even wider. “This is Ghost. He’s mine,” he said, though the explanation felt inadequate.

“You might have mentioned you had a pet direwolf,” Tormund said as he approached carefully, keeping a wary eye on Ghost.

“Ghost isn’t a pet,” Jon snapped vehemently before changing the subject. “What were those things?”

Tormund’s mouth twisted as he stared back at their camp. “The dead. There are more and more of them every day. Them and the White Walkers.”

Jon felt as if he had stepped inside of one of Old Nan’s stories. He wanted to argue with Tormund, tell him the Others weren’t real and the dead couldn’t hurt you. But he had seen with his own eyes those things that were human but not, that only died when you set them on fire.

“Let me see your hands,” Tormund said, crouching on the other side of him and trying to stay as far away from Ghost as possible.

“My hands?” Jon asked, not understanding. He glanced down at his still bound hands, eyes widening as he took in the charred rope and the blackened scraps around his hands that had been his gloves. By some miracle, though, the skin beneath had not been burnt. “They’re not hurt.”

“You were holding a flaming log,” Tormund said in disbelief. “How are you not hurt?”

Jon shrugged, not in the mood to question his luck. Not when presented with the much bigger problem of the dead.

tbc…


	6. Chapter Six

Ned strode towards the king’s pavilion with Ser Barristan, though it was only his sense of duty that prompted him to follow the Kingsguard and assist him in convincing Robert not to fight in the melee.

He wasn’t sure why he had even remained in King’s Landing. After first learning of the Lannisters’ attempted assassination of Bran and then Jon’s attack at the Wall, Ned had begun feeling apathetic at best about the political dealings of the South. Most of the time, though, being surrounded by Lannisters and Baratheons just made him angry. Robert, especially, had recently only been able to inspire rage in him.

Robert, who capitulated to his Lannister wife too easily. Robert, who didn’t seem to care as he drank and whored the crown into debt. Robert, whose hatred for Targaryens had forced him to hide Jon as a bastard, which had driven him to the Night’s Watch where he had…

Ned gritted his teeth as he stepped into the king’s pavilion, where Robert was currently yelling at his squires. More Lannisters, Ned noted, barely keeping his ire under control.

“Ned, can you believe these stupid idiots?” Robert roared at him, causing the two blond boys to tremble. “Can’t even put a man’s armor on!”

“Because the man’s gotten too fat for his armor,” Ned told him bluntly, not attempting to soften the blow.

“Too fat for my armor!” the king cried angrily, staring down his Hand. Ned just looked at him blankly. Robert, he knew, was not truly angry, though honestly, Ned would not care if he were. The tension was high, though, as the squires and Ser Barristan believed the king to be angry. There was a moment of silence before Robert burst out laughing.

Ned folded his arms over his chest and frowned as he watched Robert berate his squires for laughing before sending them to find a tool that didn’t exist.

Robert noticed his lack of mirth as the squires had left. “Come on, Ned, a breastplate stretcher!” he cajoled. “Imagine their faces when they realize!”

“You can’t fight in the melee, Robert,” he stated in a flat voice.

“I damn well can and I damn well will!” Robert yelled, a stubborn set to his brow. “I’ll fight and I’ll win! How dare that harpy of a wife of mine try to keep me from doing as I damn well please! Your sister wouldn’t have been such a shrew.”

Ned wanted to run the fat king in for even daring to mention his sister. Not when Ned had been visited nearly every night in his dreamed by Lyanna screaming in rage over what had happened to her son. While Ned could admit his own fault in what happened to Jon, he wasn’t sure he could forgive Robert for his part, not when the man was still so delusional about Lyanna, Targaryens, and everything about the past.

“Robert, if you fight in the melee, one of two things will happen,” Ned said impatiently, needing more than anything to get away from the king in that moment. “The men will either let you win, or one of them will take advantage of the situation and kill you. If you want one of those scenarios to happen, then enter the melee.”

Without waiting for a response, Ned left the pavilion, ignoring Robert’s roar of “Don’t walk away from your king!”

Ned didn’t turn back, instead made for the Tower of the Hand, where he had sent Sansa after Ser Hugh had fallen in the joust. His daughter had been shaken by the death, he knew. Ned couldn’t help but feel that he was failing her the same way he had failed Lyanna by bringing her to this place and betrothing her to Joffrey.

Was being here even worth it anymore? Jon Arryn was dead, and even if he could find proof that the Lannisters had murdered him, would it matter in the end? Did he want to involve his family and the North in another conflict in the South for _Robert’s_ sake? For the sake of someone who would murder his nephew if he ever knew the truth?

Perhaps he should consider leaving the snakes of the South to devour themselves.

#

They had trekked through the night and the next day at a fast pace after encountering the dead. Tormund had thankfully cut away the burnt rope from his wrists so Jon was able to keep up with their speed without having to worry about losing his balance. Longspear had even leant him a spare pair of gloves. Jon wasn’t sure what he had done to earn the kindness, but he wasn’t going to question it when it saved him from frostbite.

Sigorn and Longspear kept sending furtive glances at Ghost despite their frantic pace. Neither were comfortable with the silent direwolf in their midst. Tormund, to his credit, had taken the wolf in stride once he realized that Ghost had absolutely no intention of leaving Jon’s side. And if Ygritte had any fear of him, her curiosity had quickly won out.

“You didn’t tell us you were a warg,” she told him accusatorially, sometime around mid-afternoon, when they were far enough away from their former campsite to feel safe enough to exchange more than a few words.

“A what?” Jon asked, drawing his eyes away from Tormund’s large frame leading them through the trees and giving her a confused look.

“A warg!” Ygritte repeated with a roll of her eyes. “You can skinchange into your wolf!”

“Skinchange?”

She gave him an annoyed scowl. “Are you just going to repeat everything I say?”

Jon smirked at her. “I am until you explain what you’re talking about.” 

To be honest, he enjoyed the distraction she was providing. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the terror they had come in contact with last night and what it all meant. Compared to the dead, his captors didn’t seem nearly as intimidating as they had yesterday.

“You can enter the mind of your wolf and control him,” Ygritte elaborated.

Jon balked at that, automatically reaching out to bury his hand in Ghost’s fur. “I wouldn’t try to control Ghost,” he told her with a scowl. “He’s my companion. I wouldn’t force him to do anything he didn’t want to do.”

“But you could?” she pressed with a smirk. “You can enter his mind.”

Jon shrugged. “I’ve had dreams where I can see through his eyes. They’re just dreams though.”

“You know nothing,” she told him, shaking her head and veering off to walk with Longspear.

Jon frowned after her. Was she right? Where they more than dreams? He looked down at Ghost, who met his glance with a steady red stare.

“Don't mind her,” Tormund said, causing Jon to jump in surprise and snap his head to look up at the alpha. He hadn’t realized he had moved closer to them and taken up Ygritte’s abandoned spot at his side. “She acts tough, but she’s always liked the stories and songs about magic and magic folk. You should see the way she tears up at a good singing of The Last of the Giants.”

Jon’s heart clenched at that. It had been bad enough when Ygritte just reminded him of Arya. Now he could see both his sisters in the red-haired wildling girl, and it served only to remind him that he missed all siblings fiercely. Despite having been prepared to swear his life to the Night’s Watch before, he had assumed he would be able to visit his brothers and sisters occasionally, like Uncle Benjen.

“Have you known her long?” Jon asked, trying to get his mind off his family that, for all he knew, he would never see again.

“All her life,” Tormund answered, a fond smile playing over his lips. “We grew up in the same village. Us and Longspear up there,” he added, nodding towards the beta Ygritte was now whispering with as Sigorn stomped ahead of them.

“Are they…?” he trailed off, giving the alpha meaningful look. “Or are you…?”

He didn’t know why he could finish the questions, or why he cared more about the answer to the second than he did the first. Not that he cared much about the relationships of his captors.

Tormund gave a loud laugh though. “Gods, no,” he said, shaking his head. “Longspear and her share an alpha father. Unless you think so low of us Free Folk that you think we’d fuck our brothers and sisters.”

“Of course not!” Jon replied quickly, not wanting the alpha to think he thought poorly of his people. He wasn’t really sure what he thought of the wildlings anymore. Not after what he witnessed last night. At least they were still people. Tormund’s wording made him pause. “Free folk?”

“You didn’t think we called ourselves wildlings like you kneelers do?” he asked sardonically with a raised eyebrow. “We’re not wild in the North, we’re _free_. We don’t have to answer to anyone unless we want to. We do what we want, when we want, and no one cares as long as no one else gets hurt. And we don’t have to answer to some weak lordling just because some other lord squirted him out.”

Jon thought about that for a moment. He could see the downsides of the system south of the Wall. While Lord Stark had taught Robb well and Jon believed he would be a great Lord of Winterfell one day, there were always heirs like Joffrey. Jon hadn’t spent much time with the boy, but what he had been enough to know that he wasn’t likely to be the best king of Westeros. Speaking of kings, though…

“Then why do you answer to Mance Rayder?” he asked curiously.

“Mance has proven himself,” came the easy answer. “The Free Folk follow strength. And Mance has gotten tribes that have been fighting for as long as we can remember to make peace and band together.”

Jon didn’t have to ask how Mance did that. If there were anymore of those things from last night, then Jon could understand what had driven the wildlings, or Free Folk he supposed, to band together under a new King-Beyond-the-Wall. After all, it had been the Others that had been what had driven the Free Folk to unite under Joramun, the most famous King-Beyond-the-Wall.

A chill ran down Jon’s spine at the thought of the Others. He wasn’t sure if he believed the demons of Old Nan’s stories actually existed, but after last night, he couldn’t discount her tales entirely. 

Well, come of them could be discarded. He glanced up at Tormund before surveying the rest of his captors. Old Nan used to say the wildlings lay with the Others and had children with them, or that they stole girls and omegas from the North and gave them to the Others. They might be holding him prisoner, but Jon didn’t think they were that twisted or cruel. At least not these particular wildlings.

Jon shifted and gazed out into the trees as they walked, as if expecting to see another walking corpse rushing towards them or maybe even the pale, walking demons from Old Nan’s stories…

He shook his head and spoke up again, hoping to push his nightmarish thoughts away. “So where is Sigorn from?”

Tormund huffed. “Sigorn is a Thenn. They’re like you kneelers, almost, with all your lords and laws. Sigorn is the son of the Magnar of Thenn and will be the next Magnar,” he replied before leaning in towards Jon to whisper conspiratorially. “He’s been trying to steal Ygritte since the Thenns joined us, but she keeps fighting him. She don’t think she’d like dealing with all the Thenn laws.”

Jon looked down, uncomfortable with the alpha’s sudden nearness. “That’s fair,” he said with a shrug, trying to get a hold of himself. He had spent hours pressed against Tormund last night. The alpha leaning in close to speak to him shouldn’t make him wary. He looked up in surprise as he heard Tormund scramble away.

Jon suppressed a laugh as he realized Ghost must have sensed his unease, silently creeping up behind them and shoving between him and Tormund.

“Damn wolf,” the alpha said, rolling his eyes. He glared at Jon. “If I was too close, you could just tell me instead of siccing your wolf on me.”

“Like I told Ygritte,” he replied with a shrug and a smirk. “I don’t control Ghost.”

“Whatever you say,” Tormund said, shaking his head as he increased his pace to resume his position at the front of their group.

Jon felt an irrational pang of regret as he watched the alpha stride away. For some reason, he had to fight down the urge to run after him and apologize. It hadn’t as if he _wanted_ to feel uncomfortable.

Ghost bumped his head against his hand before licking it, as if trying to cheer him up. Jon sighed and smiled down at the wolf. At least Ghost understood him.

#

His mother arriving home in Winterfell was a blessing. Little Rickon had barely stopped clinging to her since she had arrived, and even Bran, who had expressed so much resentment for her when she wasn’t there when he woke up, seemed to be reluctant to let her out of his sight. She was so busy with them that Robb hadn’t actually had a chance to speak with her about Winterfell until the morning after she came home.

“I noticed you and Theon weren’t speaking last night at supper,” she said as they broke their fast together. It was just she and Robb at the table in the family breakfast room, as it was too early for Bran and Rickon to be awake.

Robb’s jaw tightened. “He said some disrespectful words about Jon,” he told her, watching her closely for her own reaction. She had been part of the reason Jon had left, after all.

To his surprise, grief and guilt mixed on her face as she averted her eyes to study her food. “I was very sorry to hear what happened to your brother,” she replied. Robb raised his eyebrows. He had never heard her call Jon his “brother” before. At best, she had called him his “half-brother.” “I thought he would make it back to Winterfell before I did.”

“Lord Tyrion said his injuries would be too severe to travel by horseback for a while,” he said with a sigh. “We haven’t even had a raven from him, though I’m not surprised by that. Tyrion said Jon was ashamed for us to know what happened to him.”

“Tyrion Lannister?” Catelyn asked with bite in her voice, her blue eyes blazing as she met Robb’s. “You let him stay here with your brothers?”

Robb blinked, unsure of her sudden animosity. “On his way back from the Wall, yes,” he said in confusion. “He was very polite while he was a guest.”

“I suppose he couldn’t stomach doing the deed himself once his assassin had failed,” she spat.

“What?” he cried, eyes wide. “Are you saying that _Tyrion_ _Lannister_ sent that assassin after Bran?” It didn’t sit right with him. Tyrion had been particularly patient and kind to Bran, more than most would have been to a newly crippled boy. “Are you sure?”

“A trusted friend of mine told your father and I that the blade used belonged to Tyrion Lannister,” she explained.

That was hardly definite proof, Robb thought privately. Who gave their own very valuable dagger to a nameless catspaw? Still, Robb didn’t have the energy to argue with his mother, not over something that they could hardly do anything about now. Perhaps his father would have better luck in King’s Landing.

“Well, he stayed and now he’s gone,” Robb told her instead. “I had no reason to turn him away.”

“Instead you turned away men of the Night’s Watch” she stated, giving him an unimpressed stare. He flushed. Had Bran told her? Or Maester Luwin? She must have known about Tyrion, too, but had apparently still felt the need to vent her anger to him. “The Starks and the North have supported the Night’s Watch for generations, Robb. It is disrespectful to the traditions of the North to turn them away.”

“And what has the Night’s Watch done in return?” Robb shot back, now angry himself. His problems with the Watch had been building inside him ever since Tyrion had told him Jon had been attacked. Tyrion had told him many things, actually, that had him doubting the Watch. “Did you know that Uncle Benjen had already been missing for weeks before Jon was attacked? And Waymar Royce, Lord Royce’s son whom we hosted here at Winterfell, is also missing. It seems the Night’s Watch has a habit of not looking after its more noble recruits.

“And why should they?” he continued. “The majority of the Night’s Watch are outlaws and criminals who flee to the Watch to escape just punishment under the law. Why wouldn’t they feel resentment for the lords that uphold the law? Why wouldn’t they take that resentment out on any noble born recruit? We allow an order filled with murderers and rapers and thieves to live on our northern border without interference? And why? To protect us from wildlings? Wildlings that are directly antagonized by the Night’s Watch. Would they even bother us if they weren’t? And are they so much a threat that our _honorable_ men can’t protect us from the few that manage to get over the Wall?”

His mother was gaping at him once he finished his tirade. He knew that his words were against everything he had been taught, against what _everyone_ had been taught. Nobody in the North dared question the Night’s Watch’s _noble purpose_ , but Robb could not for the life of him understand what that purpose _was_. 

Robb had to admit that it felt _good_ to finally voice his thoughts out loud.

“So no, mother,” he said coldly, standing up from the table. “I do not regret turning brothers of the Night’s Watch away from Winterfell. Not when they are allowing my brother’s rapers to escape punishment.”

Having said all he had to say on the subject, he turned and walked away, intent on working his frustration out in the training yard.

tbc…


End file.
